The Undoing Of A Lady

combination of emotions. Whatever the reason, Lizzie ignored him completely and walked the horse up to the edge of the balcony.

There was a moment’s pause and then they jumped, horse and rider united in a most elegant and perfectly executed leap down to the street. Nat-and everyone else-was afforded the most perfect view of Lizzie’s pert, rounded buttocks and the quickest, tantalizing flash of the crease between her thighs. A concerted sigh ran through all the men in the room, and then the place erupted into chaos as they abandoned the landing and ran down the stairs to see if both horse and rider had survived the jump. Nat ran, too, down the staircase and out into the warm, damp night, torn between fear and an anger so intense he had never experienced it before. Men were pushing and shoving to get a view and as Nat ruthlessly cut his way to the front of the crowd he saw Lizzie trotting demurely away down the street. The lamplight gleamed on the pale skin of her bare back and buttocks and on the lovely curves and hollows of her body. The crowd burst into spontaneous applause.

“I say! How marvelous!”

“Splendid creature!”

Nat felt the relief rip through him followed swiftly by ungovernable rage. He saw Miles approach him and then his friend put a hand on his arm and started to speak but Nat did not seem able to hear him. He shook Miles off violently and set off down the street in the direction that the horse had gone. He could still hear the sound of hoofbeats echoing through the night air.

She had gone too far this time.

The blood roared in his ears. What had he been thinking to leave Lizzie alone again? How could he have been so foolishly smug and complacent as to think that she might sit quietly waiting for him, when she was no doubt bored and lonely and so like a child throwing a tantrum she had to do something completely outrageous? This was Lizzie Scarlet, the wild, headstrong, wilful miss who was no more likely to change and reform than her gray mare would turn to a roan gelding. Nothing could excuse this behavior-not Lizzie’s grief nor her misery nor her anger. The truth was that she was spoiled to the bone and she was never going to change. She had made him a laughingstock and proved publicly that their marriage was a sham and a debacle.

The anger threatened to devour him whole. How many years had he known Lizzie? How many times had she pulled a trick that was, if not as appalling as this one, then disgraceful and scandalous and undisciplined? When she had been no more than Sir Montague’s naughty little sister it had not mattered. He had laughed, and shaken his head over her wildness whilst thinking privately that she was a hoyden who had been dragged rather than brought up. Now, suddenly, it mattered terribly. Everything was different because she was his wife.

Nat found that he was running down the Fortune Street, following the faint, fading rap of hooves until he came to the mews at the back of Chevrons. His breath was coming in short, sharp bursts. His blood fizzed with rage and tension. He stormed into the stables and came up short to find Lizzie there, calmly rubbing her horse down. She was wearing a loose dressing robe now, though her feet were still bare, and the fact that she was clothed now only seemed to incense Nat further. For some reason he had expected her to run and hide from him, and her blatant refusal to back down, to accept blame, to beg his forgiveness for her dreadful behavior, was the last straw. And in that moment he realized with appalled horror that he was hugely, hopelessly and unbearably aroused. He looked at the saddle lying on the floor and thought of it pressed between her thighs, and barely managed to repress his groan.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. She stood there, the brush in one hand, her face set and pale. In her eyes was a sparkle of rage that met and matched his.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” she said pertly. “It was the most perfect jump. Starfire-” she patted the horse’s neck “-is all spirit and no fear.”

All spirit and no fear.

Nat realized that he was almost too insane with rage and arousal to speak. He took Lizzie by the shoulders and pushed her roughly ahead of him out of the stall and into the hay store next door. The door of the stall banged behind them and the horse shifted. Nat caught sight of one of the grooms out in the yard, his face a picture of shock and speculation. No doubt he had seen Lizzie ride in, naked and shameless. Nat did not know why that should worry him particularly when every other gentleman in the county had just seen her displaying herself with abandon, but somehow it did. He slammed the door of the storeroom in the groom’s face, shot the bolt and turned to his wife. He grabbed the neck of her robe and wrenched it from her so that she was once more standing naked in front of him.

“And you think that this is the appropriate attire for riding?” His voice shook so much he could barely force out the words. “And in front of every one of my friends and acquaintances?”

Her chin came up. She made no attempt to cover herself. Once more her bright auburn hair covered her shoulders and tumbled over her provocative little breasts and she put her hands on her hips. “No doubt they envied you,” she said, her gaze going to the immense bulge in his pantaloons.

“No doubt they thought you a whore and wanted to have you on the banqueting table,” Nat said. The mere thought of any other man possessing her-or even wanting to possess her-drove him to insanity. “Was that what you wanted?”

The fury sparked again in Lizzie eyes. She threw the brush at him. He ducked as it sailed over his head.

“Bastard!” she said. “I hear my cousin bribed you to marry me. All that talk of honor and saving my reputation and caring for me-” Her voice broke. “Oh, I knew you needed the money, too,” she finished bitterly. Her breasts were rising and falling rapidly with each gasping breath she took. “At least you were honest about that. But you had my dowry for that. You did not need for Gregory to sell me to you, as well-”

Nat made a grab for her, but she slithered from his grip, lithe and slippery, and snatched the riding crop that was on the table. She held it out toward him like a weapon.

“Don’t touch me or I’ll hit you! I mean it!”

“Lizzie,” Nat said. “Please…” He made a desperate final grab for his control. “Can we talk about this?”

In response she brought the crop down on his arm, the pain so jarring he caught his breath.

“Keep away from me!”

“All right,” Nat said, the fury whipping through his blood. “If you want to play it like this.”

He did not recognize the jumble of lust and fierce violence and frustration within him. It felt as though he had been propelled far beyond his normal self by feelings and emotions that were completely uncontrollable and absolutely alien to his nature. He grabbed the end of the crop and used it to drag Lizzie toward him. She wriggled her arm free again and brought the crop down hard against his buttocks. The sensation, the pleasure and pain, burst through his body in an explosion of sparks. His cock jutted fiercely. He groaned. She did it again, with a wicked flick of the wrist and he froze as even more intense feelings racked him. A third time and he almost came where he stood. He tore the crop from her hands and snapped it in half, throwing the pieces into a corner. She did not take the opportunity to run away. She stood in front of him, her eyes and the tilting smile on her lips, taunting him.

“I warned you,” she said.

“And I’m warning you.” Nat was panting. “Parading yourself before all those men…I am the only one who can have you.”

She shrugged an insolent shoulder. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it-the sex and the money. Well, if you want me you’ll have to take me.”

Even as he reached out to her she whirled away from him and ran for the door. She was quick, but now he was quicker. He caught her by the upper arms and spun her around so that her bare back was against the rough brick wall of the store. He yanked her head back with one hand tangled in the silken tresses of her hair and ground his mouth against hers and in return she bit his lip hard and he tasted blood.

This was madness, this frenzied, desperate need he had for her. He knew it and the fact that it was so far removed from his usual rational demeanor filled him with equal measures of despair and arrant desire. He did not understand why he felt driven by the need to tame her but he grabbed one of the leading reins from the table and looped it about her wrists, dragging them above her head and securing the leather over a jutting metal hook. The expression in her eyes when she realized that he had restrained her was feral. She kicked out at him but he brought his body in close to her, trapping her flailing legs between his thighs. She writhed and wriggled now to no avail.

“Lizzie,” he said. They were close, staring into each other’s faces, her breasts touching his chest as they both panted for breath. And then that impudent smile twitched her lips again.